


Mismatched Soul Mates

by artisticPsychologist



Category: Half-Life, Portal (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 20:23:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16839754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artisticPsychologist/pseuds/artisticPsychologist
Summary: This fic is incredibly old.  I'm backing it up from Tumblr.  Please be gentle.





	1. Chapter 1

"Aah! Oh, Doug… oh, please…!"

"You're so beautiful."

Doug never dreamed that he'd have Chell, a woman he wasn't even certain was alive and real, right in his arms. His savior. His beloved. The only person who ever really mattered to him. And she was begging for his touch.

No, it was more than just his touch. She wasn't just begging him to touch her, that much he'd already done and more.

"I… I want this. Touch me, let me feel you inside me…!"

She wanted to make love to him.

But it wasn't so simple as that. Sure, Doug had his share of sexual experience. Not as much as he'd like, of course, but enough to know what to do. But Chell was significantly younger than he was, and had been in forced isolation for a long time. She hadn't known human contact in all her shady memory. She was a virgin, and he would _need_ to take the initiative in this. He would have to be the one to explain things, either through words or actions. And because reality to him was a skeptical guess at best, that _wasn't_ going to be easy.

"Chell, I… I don't know if this is the best idea right now."

"Come on…! We've got a condom. And you've been eating well and feeling better, right? It's not too much for you right now, is it?"

"No, it's not too much… physically, anyway. It's just that once we do this, there will be no turning back. And I'm still not certain it's best for you to be with me."

"Doug. You're the one I want to spend the rest of my life with. No one else understands what I went through for all those years. No one else can compare."

"… if you're sure about this."

He could think of no better reason to make love to her than simply because he loved her and could finally hold her in his arms.

She wanted his hands on her, his eager erection inside her? That was almost too much for him to even grasp. He was already overwhelmed at just being near her, holding her hand, and kissing her. To see her naked… to touch her light bronze skin… he shivered at the thought.

He ran his hands along her sides, rubbing gently. She squirmed a little.

_So she's ticklish._

He tugged at her tank top, pulling it up over her head. He was a tad confused when he looked down and saw that the article hadn't gone anywhere, but shook his head and realized it was just her blue camisole. He peeled that off of her as well, but with a tad more difficulty. Sure, they'd both showered (Chell herself had taken at least thirty minutes in there, simply entranced by the warm water), but these clothes were still filthy. Shirts and pants alike still clung to their bodies, stuck fast by years of sweat. He found his skin was crawling at the thought, itching to remove his own grimy clothing.

Chell was more than happy to oblige. Now almost completely bared to him, she slipped her hands under the hem of his Aperture t-shirt, tugging gently at the hem as if to say "come on, let me see".

He was quite willing to assist her in tearing off his shirt. His lab coat had long since been hung up and forgotten, and now he sat on the bed with his chest completely bare. He blushed slightly as her hungry eyes looked him over, pupils dilated and sparkling.

"You look lovely," she said. Her soft voice sent ripples up his spine.

"Nowhere near as lovely as you," he replied, swallowing.

Doug had always been in love with her. Well, perhaps not always. For a time there had been nothing on his mind but survival. Love simply didn't enter into the equation. He'd even checked the math. But Doug knew he was too much of a coward, and much too weak, to go before the omnipotent goddess of the facility. He hadn't a chance. But he knew somebody might. His mind went back to when he'd first seen her face, a determined (and more than a little angry) look in her eyes, in the photograph in her file. Those deep, grey eyes….

He found himself staring into them. Never had he dreamed he'd see them up close like this. Eye contact wasn't something one achieved very often in his line of work. At least, not unless one had a very open minded definition of an "eye".

Oh, but Doug loved her so much _now!_ It was all he could do to keep her from driving him mad. Well, madd _er_. She drove something in him that he thought had been starved to death years ago back to the surface of his consciousness. She was always on his mind.

Love was all he cared about.

At first it didn't matter how close or how far they were. Her face had burned itself on his memory, straight from the photograph and through his eyes where his neurons had kept it protected and in its purest electric form. If he felt he was forgetting how she looked, all he would have to do was paint her. There were ample art supplies back then. He suspected there still were. Paint and charcoal and chalk… it was a cornucopia, an artists' dream, all sitting around waiting to be made into something _magnificent_. If only one could subsist on creation alone… then the physical starvation he'd experienced might not have been so painful.

After a while, he became aware of her presence. The knowledge that she was awake and wandering the laboratory caused something truly animal and alien to surface in him. He would find himself following her about, stealing fleeting glances at her as she worked. As she survived. He began to wonder if she ever slept, but of course she didn't. Too much adrenaline in the air, no time for sleep when there was science to be done.

Eventually, those fleeting glances evolved into long stares. He would look at her for hours on end, drinking in the view. The simultaneously familiar and foreign sight of another human being, moving, breathing, every so often curling up in a quiet corner to lick her wounds, was simply fascinating to him. It was then that he first yearned to be closer to her. To touch her, hold her. To clasp her hand in his would be the pinnacle of happiness for him. To feel the last of the good, pure, wonderful things left in his world, and to know that she and he….

His mind trailed off, and he was jolted from reverie by the feel of her hand on his face. He felt himself grow warmer at the touch, and smiled sheepishly. He had been staring into her eyes all this time.

"Sorry… sometimes I just _get_ like that," he apologized.

"I know," she said plainly, swooping in fluidly to kiss him briefly on the lips.

That was all he needed. A kiss and a cuddle. Perhaps, if he was lucky, he would get to hold her hand. She would rub the pad of her thumb over the back of his hand ever so gently and in perfect time with some unheard song. Yes, holding hands was the best.

But she was young and hungry, deprived of human love (or any love, he corrected himself, as machines were cruel but had the capacity for gentler things) for longer than she could remember. It was understandable that she would want to take everything in about this foreign concept of contact as quickly as possible, to make up for lost time.

Doug, on the other hand, knew his age would soon catch up with him. He suspected he was in his early forties, and that Chell was in her mid-twenties, her thirties if he was lucky. He kicked himself sometimes for not choosing someone closer to his own age.

Of course, age was hard to tell with a woman like her. Her bronzed skin suggested origins of a Spanish nature, while her eyes and face struck him as almost Asian in descent. Race mattered nothing to him, of course, the only thing that mattered was that she was tenacious and beautiful. But when dealing with unknown races, it was only natural to be unsure of age-

She snapped her fingers in front of his eyes and he blinked.

"… sorry," he whispered.

Losing focus once was cute, endearing even. Doing so twice was slightly irritating.

"It's fine. Are you sure you're alright?" she asked. He looked at her eyes, hoping not to zone out again. No, he merely wanted to check.

Her pupils were still dilated.

_Good, so I wasn't out too long_ , he sighed inwardly.

"I'm alright. Just…," he lingered on whether or not to say it, but the words were already on his lips and with any luck she didn't know how cliché the line was. "… lost in your eyes."

She giggled. What a pleasant sound it made! Like clay bells jingling in the wind.

"Do you like my eyes?" she questioned, eyelids falling a bit and lips curling into a playful smile.

"More than you can imagine…," he breathed. And it was true. He had never thought that shade of grey could be so vivid.

"Do you like your own eyes?" she wondered, the playfulness of her tone dissipating, though not entirely.

"… not so much as yours," he said frankly. He was well aware of the characteristics of his slate blue eyes. The pupils were of different sizes, the right one too large and the left one too small. There was a medical name for it that began with an "a", but Doug had long since forgotten how to pronounce or even spell it.

"Well," she began, quirking her eyebrows up. "I think they're the most amazing eyes I've ever looked at. They're one of my favorite things about you. They are wholly yours, no one else can lay claim to eyes such as them."

She had flourished that sentence in a hyperbolic manner. She had never been a woman of words, but had been even less of numbers. So she had taken to reading, rather passionately, now that she finally had the leisure time to do so. She needed no aid in this endeavor, and had devoured book after book. She liked the verbal flourishes the old poets and novelists used, and knew that saying things that way made both she and Doug more lighthearted.

"… I suppose I could grow to love them. If you love something as wretched as me, surely that must mean there's something in me I haven't noticed yet," he laughed.

At this, her expression hardened. "I told you not to say things like that."

Oh. Right. He'd almost forgotten.

_"You have to love yourself before you can love me."_

"… sorry. It's gonna take a while for me to get used to that. I'm wary of getting too egocentric," he admitted. "Narcissism tends to get out of hand in paranoid schizophrenics."

"But you're not _like_ that, Doug! You said it yourself: almost nobody exhibits _all_ the symptoms. And you didn't get that one!" she pleaded.

"I know that _now_ , Chell, but I didn't _always_!" he was upset now. "It takes a long time to grow out of old mindsets. It's not like breaking a bad habit. It's like altering your _feelings_."

"… I know. I'm sorry. I shouldn't push this," Chell apologized.

He smiled knowingly. He knew she would continue to push it, even though she knew she shouldn't. She was stubborn, insanely so, more than she had any right to be. Usually a person would reach their limit and give in, be it out of fear or pain or grief or something of that nature. But not Chell. Never Chell. He loved that about her, because it meant that she would never give up on _him_.

"… let's do this," he said, determination rising in him.

She smiled excitedly, and began undoing the tightly knotted sleeves of her orange jumpsuit. He reached a hand out to help her, grasping at the mass of fabric, but she pushed it away. After a moment of wrestling with it, the tie was undone and the jumpsuit came off cleanly. It had always been just a bit big on her.

He leaned forward awkwardly and kissed at her shoulder, daring to flick his tongue momentarily at the soft flesh. His hands snaked around her back, pulling her firmly against him briefly, before making their way to her bra strap. His clumsy fingers wrestled with the clasp, before she pushed him aside and undid it easily. Her bra came off in a smooth motion, and Doug felt a smile tug at his lips as he watched her breasts fall with a miniscule bounce.

Doug laid a hand on one, cupping it gently and squeezing it ever so slightly. They were small, no larger than a B cup at best, but he didn't care. He'd never cared about vain things like that. All that mattered was their softness, and Chell's breasts more than fit that qualification. He ran his fingers down the top of it, coming to rest over the nipple. He began tenderly stroking it-

-when she slapped his hand away. He looked at her, bewildered, frantically searching her face for an answer.

She didn't look hurt, and he had been as gentle as he knew how to be. He knew a woman's breast was sensitive, especially a virgin's, and had taken great care not to harm her. She didn't look angry, either, so he hadn't overstepped his bounds. She almost looked… sad. Disappointed, even.

"What… did I do wrong?" he asked quietly.

She shook her head, eyes gritting closed and biting her lip. "You didn't do anything wrong," she said, not looking him in the eye. "It's me."

This admission _really_ left him confused. "What's the matter?" he asked sheepishly.

"I… they… oh, Doug, _please_ don't make me explain! I just can't have you touching me there, okay?" she pleaded.

"Does it hurt? I was trying to be gentle…," he began.

She nodded quickly, still not looking him in the eye. "It… it's never felt good…."

"Really? Have you tried it before, then?"

"… once or twice."

"… if you'll let me, I think I can fix that. They're not supposed to hurt, but it might be a bit overwhelming the first time."

"… but they really do _hurt_! I'm not making this up, Doug!"

"I know, Chell! Just let me try one thing, and if you don't like it I promise I won't press the subject."

She bit her lip again, brows furrowed in thought, and finally sighed with a slightly frightened tone. "… okay."

He smiled softly and sat up straighter. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he bid her to turn around. She complied, and he pulled her hips to him so that she sat in his lap. He caressed her gently, placing one arm around her stomach and the other over her chest. He was careful not to touch the darker structure at its tip, but he squeezed her breast gently as he hugged her. He breathed the scent of her hair: a sharp citrus shampoo smell, mixed with a more natural aroma. Doug pressed his lips to her neck, just below the jaw, and kissed his way down. He hoped that he wasn't leaving a noticeable trail of saliva, but she didn't seem put off by his actions, so he continued. When he reached her shoulder, his kiss lingered there, in an attempt to silently reassure her that he meant no harm. He removed his lips after a fashion and replaced them with his chin. His hands found their way to her breasts and she grabbed his legs for support. He pressed the pads of his thumbs over her nipples, pressing down firmly but slowly until they sank into her a little. He maintained that pressure, rubbing in a circular motion, but being careful to not actually brush the skin.

Her hips rocked placidly, and she whimpered. Pleased with that response, he dared ask a question he hopefully knew the answer to.

"How is that?" he wondered, not stopping his attentions.

"It's… hard to describe. Faint, but good… pleasant…," she breathed.

"Then do you trust me if I try something else?" he asked, bolder this time.

She sighed, exasperated. It wasn't easy to get her to do anything, even if Doug reassured her. She still refused to go into large department stores or malls, because the security cameras set her on edge.

"… fine, do it," she mumbled.

"I need you to relax, okay?" he nipped bravely at her earlobe. She liked that, and he coaxed out a quiet 'okay'.

He slowly released her, moving the thumb and forefinger of each hand and pinched tenderly as far down on her nipples as he could. She tensed, and he allowed her to get used to the new sensation. After a minute or so, she finally began to relax. It was then that he started to move, worrying the flesh lovingly, working the nubs back and forth like radio dials but never twisting very far.

She thrashed and squirmed, breathing sharply, her legs kicking at the mattress and propelling her hard into Doug's chest. He immediately let go of her, heart pounding.

"Are you okay? Did that hurt?" he said anxiously, his voice going up in pitch.

"N-no…," she panted. "It didn't hurt."

He breathed a sigh of relief. For a split second he was just glad she hadn't been in pain, but then it hit him.

"Was it really that good?" he asked, expression brightening.

"Yes," she whispered, out of breath. "… don't stop."

He quickly resumed his treatment, and she went right back to squirming in his grasp. She pedaled the air, head rolling back, mouth open and panting hard. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, her breathing and movements slowed as she got used to the sensation.

He moved a little faster, and she returned to her original speed.

_Yeah, that's all you needed, isn't it? You haven't been touched before and you're just not used to it, that's all. That's why it hurt when you tried it. You didn't know how to do it properly. Or maybe it was just a bad time of the month, or something like that. But you don't have to be scared of it any more. I'll take care of you. I'll make you feel good._

Her squirming made him happy, more than happy, and he decided to quit these particular actions while he was ahead. He didn't want to get too excited and end up twisting too hard or otherwise causing her pain, which would only bring them back to square one. He let her go to hug her stomach again, and she slumped in his arms.

Doug gave Chell a moment to catch her breath. After a time, she turned to him, a weary smile on her lips and a dreamy look in her eyes.

"That? Was intense," she said, kissing him on the cheek.

He pressed his lips to hers and she turned back around, arms coiling around his neck as they embraced. Doug placed one hand on the small of her back, and entwined the other in her hair. He wondered briefly if he should try French kissing, but it seemed that great minds really did think alike, because at that moment Chell's tongue ran over his lips. He was startled, but not so much that he could refuse her, and allowed her to go inside. A chill went up his spine at the unfamiliar, slippery sensation. It was more unpleasant than anything else, and he pulled away.

He wondered if she would be upset with him. But he saw that her tongue had retreated back into her mouth, and she was smacking her lips as though he'd tasted unpleasant.

"No good, huh?" he chuckled.

"No… no good… it's kinda nasty, don't you think?" she said, licking her lips disgustedly. "Why did I think that was a good idea?"

"Well, clearly the French must see something in it," he laughed again, but she only quirked an eyebrow at him in confusion. He quickly explained. "… it's called French kissing."

"Oh," she mumbled.

"Sorry, I know it must be frustrating to know some things and not others. But that's the nature of knowledge itself! No matter how much we've learned, we're always going to be caught unawares by the unknown," he said. Only too late he realized that he was delving into the realms of philosophical lectures and away from his real objective of less cerebral things.

Chell got him back on track with a swift kiss, and moved down to his neck before he could even think, licking at the skin. Her hands wandered to rub at his nipples, mimicking the technique he'd used on her not a minute earlier. He gasped, angling his neck to give her more room to work.

He slowly became aware of his heart beating in his groin, creating a firm pressure. He fidgeted uncomfortably.

Chell, noticing this, glanced down at him. He tried to scoot away out of embarrassment, but she was insistent, and pulled him back towards her. Her eager eyes swiftly snapped to his erection and she perked up, a smile tugging at her lips. She looked up at him pleadingly.

"Can I…?" she wondered teasingly.

He nodded, cheeks flushed, and she reached down to poke at it through the cloth. He winced at the sudden sensation. She ran her finger over the tip and down its length, and he sighed.

Chell tugged at the hem of his pants, fumbling with his fly, but it wasn't easy to take them off with his hard-on in the way. Doug grabbed her hand, and held it happily for a moment before helping her undo the zipper. Now that they had more room to work, he got off the bed and stood up, working off his looser-but-still-pretty-tight pants. Now they were even, he still in his boxers and she only wearing her panties. A quiet thrill shot through his crotch at the sight of her, sitting almost completely naked on the bed, leaning forward seductively, dilated eyes half-lidded and looking him over eagerly.

Doug knew he wasn't much to look at. His skin was pale as paper and his face looked funny. Coarse, dark hair grew in an unruly patch across his chest and down linearly to his groin. It peppered his legs, arms, and back. It tended to grow exceptionally thickly across his face and neck as well, but he'd shaved recently and hoped that his beard wouldn't return for a while. The day he'd first shaved, Chell had, upon coming home for the day, thought for a moment that he was a stranger in their house. But one look at his gaunt frame and his funny-looking eyes reassured her. She was upset with him a little at first, too, because she had liked the way his beard felt when he kissed her. But he felt that the dark hair on his body only served to add contrast, making his already pasty skin look even more washed-out. He was glad to be rid of the beard.

She motioned for him to come back to bed, and as though that wasn't already compelling enough, she leaned back and pulled off her panties, tossing them aside onto the floor with the rest of their clothes. He smirked, face going red again, and tugged off his boxers. He crawled back on the bed, pawing nervously at her body and cuddling up to her. She leaned back against the pillows at the headboards, and he lay flush across her, between her legs. He licked her neck and rocked against her, causing her to moan a little.

He was genuinely worried about the implications of making love to her. What if the condom broke? What if he was too rough with her? What if, when he tried to put it in, she screamed in pain and pulled away? What if he did something stupid? If she felt she couldn't trust him, it could ruin their relationship and even her confidence. The first time she went clothes shopping with him, the sight of the security cameras had made her clam up, and when they got home she didn't leave their room for a week. And he didn't want anything to upset her like that again, especially not his own stupidity.

But all his worries were draining from him. He was crazy with need, shoving himself harder against her thigh in an attempt to soothe his aching erection. His mind went cloudy, mental images of himself fucking her lovingly but mercilessly pushed out all the bad thoughts. He longed to prove to her that she was loved, even if he had to pound the idea into her. He wanted it, and seeing as her inner thighs were becoming increasingly slicker, she wanted it, too.

He delayed no longer, kissing her passionately while fumbling at the nightstand for the condom. After brushing against a glass, the lamp, and some scraps of paper, he finally found it. He pulled away, sitting up straight and attempting to pry open the packaging. The plastic was thick, several layers all mashed together around the soft circular structure of the thing. He couldn't get it to rip, even though the wrapper stretched and deformed slightly as he pulled. Chell saw him struggling, but had never opened anything more complicated than a bag of pretzels, and seemed to trust him to accomplish this. He wasn't about to continue on without the condom either, that was unthinkable, but he did consider going into the kitchen to find a pair of scissors.

Finally, he felt the plastic rip just a little bit, and used that tiny fault to rend the packaging open. The condom, rolled up in a squashy ring, popped out and bounced on the sheets. He picked it up. It was slippery; he'd apparently gotten the lubricated kind. But that wasn't a problem. After all, one didn't look a gift horse in the mouth, and Gordon had been kind enough to give him this in the first place so he wasn't about to let it go to waste.

It had been a long time since last he'd done this, but he still remembered the basics of how these things should work.

_To apply a condom, first you must be certain it's turned the right way. Squeeze the tip so no air remains in it, and press the condom to the tip of the penis. Remember to never put a condom on a penis that is not erect. Then, while depressing the tip, use your free hand to unroll the condom down-_

He shook his head to clear it. For some reason, that particular mental recitation was in the voice of Wilson, Chell's Companion Cube. It felt odd to think in its voice. According to Chell, she had always thought of Wilson as being a lazy goofball. The voice Wilson had when speaking to Doug (before he got back on antipsychotics) reflected this. To think about anything even remotely scientific in such a voice was just too silly.

While he was deliberating, he finished putting on the condom. It was a tad uncomfortable, but then again they almost always were. At any rate, there was no going back now, no way to save this for another day. He couldn't exactly put the condom back in its wrapper and expect it to still be good. And who knew when he'd buck up and buy more of his own? No, he was still too paranoid to do that, to have even a random cashier know that he was planning to have sex. And it wasn't like he could get Chell to go out and buy condoms, either. She disliked shopping in all of its forms. It was now or never.

Glancing at her, he realized that she'd been staring at his crotch this whole time. He felt a bit funny about that. It was a weird mixture of embarrassment and pride, not really objectionable but not wholly good, either.

He crouched down between her legs, ignoring his own need so that he could get more familiar with her privates. Seeing as he soon planned on having rather exclusive access to them, he thought that would be best.

"Can I take a look?" he asked her.

"Oh, um… okay," she answered, taken aback by his request. She reached down and pulled herself open, face completely red.

It was true what they said: everyone was different. Her clit was small, and he rubbed absentmindedly at the shaft as he surveyed her. This seemed to put her at ease, and she leaned back against the pillows and very nearly purred. Doug decided everything seemed to be in order down there, and he ventured to poke his index finger inside her. It slid in easily, and he prodded her a little. She twitched and moaned as his finger curled, finding her g-spot. He pressed it a few more times and then pulled out, and she whined in protest.

But he was only replacing his finger with something better.

He kissed her, asked permission one last time, and she nodded. He pressed against her, sinking slowly inside, aided by the slicked condom and her inner wetness. She breathed heavily, entwining her fingers in his hair. She was unused to the feeling, but he took it slow.

He'd almost forgotten just how good it felt. And, he thought, since it was with Chell, it was probably even better than he remembered. The feeling of fitting a part of himself into another person, like fitting two puzzle pieces together, was overwhelming. Her body gripped him powerfully. It was tight, yes, intensely so, but it was also hot and (though he couldn't really feel it through the condom) very wet. He could feel her heart beating inside her, offbeat with his own pulse and comforting.

When he found himself about halfway in, he pressed against some kind of resistance. _The cervix,_ he recalled. _It'll move back on its own if I press it._ He pushed gently against it, and Chell wriggled against the pressure. He gasped, surprised by the jolt of pleasure her sudden movements shot through him, and he held her shoulders in an attempt to keep her still.

"What… what's the holdup?" she mumbled, face flushed and sweaty. Doug suspected he looked no different.

"Have to… cervix… can't…," he choked out between breaths. His head was still very cloudy. He gulped and forced out a more coherent sentence. "You have to relax for me."

"Mmkay," she mumbled. She adjusted herself a bit, getting comfortable. He absentmindedly massaged her shoulders and the tension melted away. With this, he was able to push his way fully into her.

"Mmh~!" she moaned.

"Ohh…," he couldn't contain himself. With a fluid motion, he pulled out and shoved himself back in, relishing in the sensation. She gasped; apparently he was hitting the right spot.

He quickly fell into a slow, steady rhythm. The friction drove him mad, sending electric jolts of pleasure straight through him. His mind was working feverishly over the delight.

_This is amazing, **wow** this feels so good, I love her. I think I love her. No, I know I love her. I love her. Oh Chell, I love you. Can you tell? I hope you can tell. I think you can tell. Wow, I love you, and I'm **really** loving **this.**_

Thoughts became incoherent beginnings of coherent sentences, cut off by the bouts of liquid ecstasy shooting through his groin. When the pleasure lessened slightly as his introductory speed slowly became inefficient, his mind cleared enough for him to venture a glance down at Chell.

Her arms were wrapped tightly around his neck, and her entire body was rocking back and forth with his thrusts. He was particularly spellbound by how this affected her breasts. When he tore himself from the view, he ran his eyes over her. She was shimmering with sweat, her mouth was open slightly and she breathed deeply, and her eyes were glazed over and staring blankly at some unseen point over his head. He couldn't help but smile at the sight of her cheeks, which sported an enticing pink blush, darkened from exertion.

Seeing that he was looking at her, she made eye contact and shot him a silly grin.

"How are you doing?" she said, breathy and quick.

"Great… better than great," he smiled. "I love this… I love _you_."

"I love you, too," she looked at him with an expression he hadn't seen her make in a long time. When she'd first made it, he thought it meant 'I'm happy to see you', but he'd later learned it was closer to 'I'm so glad I'm here with you'.

At this show of affection, he became painfully aware of how slow he was going. So he plunged into her, harder and faster than before, thrusting in a more rapid succession. Her head rolled back and she rocked her hips against him in time with his quickened pace. A rumble rose in her throat, exploding from her in a powerful, growly moan.

He groaned with her, deep and throaty, and quickened his pace further. What she lacked in experience she more than made up for in fondness. Her hands were running up and down his back and shoulders, caressing him warmly, occasionally daring to squeeze his ass briefly before returning to embrace him. And it was more than that, it was like her body instinctively knew what to do, how to thrust her hips against his in time with his forceful shoves. And, really, what more to the art of sex was there? Timing, stamina, and love were really all there was to it.

But that didn't mean Doug hadn't learned a few tricks.

He reached down, which isn't easy when your hands are preoccupied with keeping yourself braced and steady on the mattress. He brushed her clit, close to its apex, and she jumped at his touch. He rubbed, gently at first, but it wasn't easy to keep oneself contained. He squeezed the shaft and she whimpered, high-pitched moans at the edges of her breaths. After several minutes of grasping at her, her head had lolled to the left and her eyes clenched shut. Doug's left hand was starting to ache with fatigue. He had no idea he was too much to hold up with just one arm. She grabbed his right hand desperately, and he thought she was trying to force him to go faster, but when he tried to she held him firmly in place. She gently replaced his fingers with hers and rubbed in his stead. He wanted to protest, but he couldn't keep himself steady any longer, and his right arm flew back to its original place on the mattress.

"Wh- why…?" he wondered between thrusts.

"You were shaking!" she yelped, surprised by a sudden return of his vigor. He was plunging into her harder than before.

He smirked. So it was done out of compassion, not rejection.

He fell into a fast, steady pace. Clearly this was what scientists called the plateau stage, and it was wonderful. No more weakening of pleasure, no more need to move quicker or harder to get _more_. He was content. Every push, every movement filled him with animal bliss. It was perfe-

"F-faster!" she screamed, surprising him. He stared at her, wide eyed and startled. Clearly her plateau speed was a tad higher than his.

He obliged, against his body's wishes, and went a little quicker. She moaned loudly, her hips shoving against him powerfully.

Okay, scratch the "plateau is the best" theory. Speed was addicting.

Suddenly, simultaneously, their eyes met without meaning to. Doug almost stopped entirely, completely stunned and more than a little embarrassed. Chell's expression mirrored his, eyes wide and focused for a split second, before they both swiftly looked away. Why was it embarrassing to make eye contact like that? Was it so surprising that there was another human being at the end of his dick?

He looked back shyly and found her staring at the junction between their legs. She watched fixedly as he pulled in and out, seemingly fascinated. The hand that had been massaging her clit tore itself away to cup his balls.

He gasped, not having expected this. She smirked up at him.

"You like that?" she said seductively.

He couldn't even properly respond. The pull of her body was intoxicating, and he was addicted. It wasn't long after she released his scrotum that he was unable to control his actions, unable to even regulate the strength of his thrusts. He'd reached an unsteady, almost vibratory pace, which he recognized immediately as his final speed. He'd already reached plateau, and now…

… now he was reaching the end.

"I-I'm…!" he screamed, back arching violently. He wasn't there yet, but he could feel it closing in. The knowledge of his impending orgasm excited and frightened him. He'd never been very good at holding it in.

Fighting the involuntariness of his jerking movements, he went again to take hold of her clit, rubbing hard down the shaft, earning a series of shrill moans. He _needed_ to speed this up.

"Come on…," he whispered.

He felt her seize up, her entire body wracked with powerful contractions, squeezing him inside her as tight as she could, and he fought hard to keep moving until she rode it out.

" ** _Aaaaaahh!_** " she screamed, quite loudly in fact.

He couldn't contain himself any more. It was too good, too arousing in too many ways, and he drove himself inside one final time, shaking hard to keep the stimulation going as his body overflowed with pleasure.

" ** _Ohh, Chell!_** " he cried.

She relaxed a little, orgasm finished, but he was still in the throes of his passion. He was absolutely crazed, shuddering involuntarily, but only briefly before the feeling ceased and he collapsed on top of her.

He felt woozy, feeble even. Sleep tugged at him, making his thoughts and vision bleary. Clearly, he was no spring chicken. He couldn't do things like this any more….

Or, at least, so he thought. Chell herself had already begun to slip into a doze as well, but he didn't notice.

_I have to get the condom off. I have to pull out. I have to fix the covers or we'll freeze tonight. I have to make sure the condom didn't break,_ he thought to himself. There were still things to do, but he couldn't coax himself into doing any of them.

Chell lethargically roused herself, patting his shoulder weakly.

"You gotta get up," she mumbled. Where had her intellectual vernacular gone?

He was reluctant, relishing in the comfortable afterglow a moment before stirring. He pulled out, cock still half-hard. That was good. You were supposed to get condoms off before the erection went away. He sat up, putting his legs over the side of the bed, and slid the rubber off. He tried not to think about it too hard, but the inside was absolutely splattered with sticky white cum. Ribbons of it stuck to his penis, and he wiped that off, grimacing. The stuff was disgusting, and it got everywhere.

Though, he was pleased to note that there was more of it than usual. At least he wasn't dehydrated any more.

He tossed the condom in the wastebasket by the bed and lay back down with Chell. He adjusted the covers over them, and held her. She smiled, blush still present, eyes half lidded. He returned that smile, and kissed her.

They were comfortable. Their first time had gone off without much of a hitch, and the afterglow buzzed in their brains. They were finally content, desperate lust was forgotten, at least for now. And, for once, neither one was want for human love or contact.

They were Doug and Chell, the mismatched soul mates.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This fan fiction will never have an update. It's being saved here for posterity from the tumblr purge.

The bond they shared was intense. It had been like that from the very beginning. But there were still one or two rough patches to get through.

For starters, there were always going to be issues with Doug’s paranoia. Even though his medication worked wonders, Doug still tended to have problems with reality. He saw patterns where there were none, overheard what he thought were secretive conversations. Repeatedly, he would hole up in a crawlspace or a vent somewhere in the resistance headquarters and would not be found for hours. If it weren’t for Chell, the others might _never_ find him. Fortunately, she somehow always knew where to look.

Doug’s art therapy, however, helped him to deal with his more stressful days. Being in constant fear of a powerful alien force was just as bad as being in fear of a vengeful supercomputer, and his paintings and scribbles helped him to vent.

Plus it helped to have a fetching young girlfriend who appreciated his artwork.

It helped even more to know that she was so understanding of his condition, so willing to treat him in exactly the manner he needed whenever he had a panic attack. So compassionate and non-judgmental. She knew to leave him alone, to not crowd or coddle him whenever he was scared, choosing instead to silently reassure him she was there for him by simply being in the room. For some reason, she was the one thing in his world that he could trust wholeheartedly, without any reservation. Just knowing she existed and was close was enough to keep him calm most days.

Of course, Chell had her share of problems, too. Unfortunately… most of their issues tended to interfere in the bedroom.

Since the breeding suppression field had been taken down, the human race had been able to reproduce again. This happened, of course, long before Doug and Chell escaped Aperture and joined the resistance.

The loss of the suppression field created both a celebration and a _problem_. Doug knew schizophrenia tended to run in families, and refused to do anything that risked pregnancy. He didn’t want to have a child with the same awful disorder he’d been born with, and if he did there was no guarantee that the child’s schizophrenia would be as blessedly mild as Doug’s was.

Even so, the entire human race seemed obsessively keen on producing as many offspring as possible. The manufacturing of birth control had no longer been necessary after the suppression field had been installed, and it seemed as though birth control wasn’t going to come back into fashion for quite some time.

It wasn’t until a few days after they’d first made love that Doug had questioned Gordon about obtaining more condoms.

_“You… you really need another one this soon?” Gordon laughed._

_Doug cringed. Gordon certainly was **loud** when he wanted to be…._

_“Y-yes… I don’t want to get her pregnant, and… well… you know how it is, don’t you? We haven’t had human contact in a very long time. It’s… only natural that we’d want to get as much as we can while the getting’s good,” he tried to explain._

_“Doug… I didn’t want to tell you this, but I honestly don’t know how old that condom I gave you **was**.” Gordon admitted. “We don’t… we haven’t **needed** to make them in a long time. To be honest, I’m amazed it was still good. I guess… well, I got it from a friend at Black Mesa. I’ve had it this whole time, and I hoped it had survived in stasis with me. But… I wouldn’t trust any more of them. Your best bet is probably abstinence now that the human race is fertile again.”_

_“How the hell am I supposed to tell her that?! Gordon, I **love** her!” Doug protested. He didn’t dare think about how lucky he’d gotten with the expired prophylactic._

_“Well…,” Gordon got that look in his eye again. The one that said ‘here’s an idea, you dog’! “… you could always just bite the bullet. You know, for the continuation of the human race.”_

_“… I can’t do that, Gordon. I can’t do that to Chell and I most certainly can’t do that to a child. You know how I am,” he sighed, dejected._

_“Well, Doug, just because **you** think your genes are inadequate doesn’t mean they are. I mean, look at me! I’m a skinny red-haired nerd with pale skin and bad vision. And yet, for some reason I can’t explain, people seem to think I’m some kind of hero,” he explained._

_“… but you don’t have schizophrenia.”_

So, much as they’d wanted to, Doug and Chell couldn’t do it any more. At least, not the way they wanted.

“C’mon, Chell, you can do it…,” he whispered in her ear.

He was sitting on the couch, holding her from behind, massaging her clit with one hand and curling his fingers firmly against her g-spot with the other. His poor digits were more than tired; they’d been at it for at least a half hour now.

“Nng-! N-no, I can’t!” she yelled, trying to pull away.

He held her steady. “Yes, you can. You’ve come before, you can come _now_.”

“It… it doesn’t _work_ like that!” she screamed, and clawed at his arm. “It hurts, Doug, let me _go_!”

This line always worked. His hands flew off of her and she immediately skirted away to the other side of the couch. She desperately covered herself, opting to clutch a throw pillow to her chest and curl up defensively.

… Doug knew he hadn’t actually hurt her. Not physically, anyway. Sometimes, if you stimulated something long enough it might begin to itch, but other than that Chell clearly wasn’t in any pain.

She was just frustrated.

There was more to it than just being _able_ to come. For some reason, no matter what he tried, Doug just could not find a way to bring her to completion without risking pregnancy. He’d touched her in every way he knew how, used up all his variability, and now?

Now he just felt useless.

It killed him to see her this way, unable to attain the release she so desperately craved. And each time they failed she became more distant, more miserable.

He yearned to throw his arms around her, but he knew it would do her no good. If he attempted to touch her now, she would only suspect him of forcing her to try again. When she got like this, all Chell wanted was to be left in peace. And all Doug could do was watch as she grew increasingly less receptive to his advances.

For some reason, her hand always did the trick for him. He _craved_ her touch. It was almost as good as the real thing. But for some reason whenever he tried to masturbate her it always ended with her running away ashamedly.

They had tried oral sex, but Doug didn’t like the feel of it. Whenever Chell had tried it, he felt like he’d been given too much control. When he tried it on her, she said it was unpleasant. She’d never liked the feel of his tongue.

Doug couldn’t stand to see her this way. He scooted closer to her, slowly, and reached for her hand. She twitched away from his touch.

“Chell…,” he choked. He hated this. He hated being unable to satisfy her most desperate needs. It was like some sick game of ‘would you rather’.

Would he rather make love to her, which could solve both of their emotional problems but risk getting her pregnant with a child neither of them was ready to care for; one that might later develop schizophrenia thanks to Doug’s defective genes? Or would he rather continue what he was doing: pushing her further and further away from him as he failed miserably to bring her to the climax she longed to achieve? It wasn’t much of a choice.

“… should I go?” he whispered, not once taking his eyes off of her.

She didn’t answer. He was worried, but she wasn’t necessarily saying ‘no’. She was probably just thinking about the question.

Chell turned to him. She looked particularly gloomy and Doug felt something in him break when her eyes met his.

“… Doug, I don’t want you to go, but… but I don’t exactly know how good it will be if you stay. I’m not gonna feel better for a while and I don’t like you seeing me this way,” she turned her gaze across the room, pretending to look at the painting of a seagull on the opposing wall. “Do what you want to.”

_But I **want** to make love to you, _he thought. _I want to see you smile again._

He unconsciously conjured the image of their first time, plastered against each other in their tiny bed, tangled in the covers and each other. Her slick, tight inside tugging at his needy erection. Her face twisted with agonized bliss, her torn hymen probably stinging but her nerves alive and pulsing with fierce ecstasy. Her-

_Oh, fuck._

He twisted uncomfortably in his seat, taking a cautious look between his legs.

Yep. Hard as a rock.

He sighed. He couldn’t let Chell see it. She’d get upset, or worse: try to give him a handjob. It certainly didn’t help that he’d sworn off sex, or anything else that might bring him to orgasm, until he could satisfy Chell again. He felt it wasn’t fair for her to suffer alone. This, of course, left him in a rather vulnerable place. He wanted it _bad_ , but took solace in the fact that the feeling would fade sooner or later if he simply denied himself. That was what happened in high school when he couldn’t get a girlfriend, in college when he first developed schizophrenic symptoms and had to go on medication (but not before everyone else realized he was a nutbar and refused to spend time with him), and most recently in Aperture when there was no one around but a woman he couldn’t bring himself to talk to. Like trying to shake any addiction, lust would dull enough after a time if only one could get past the withdrawal.

Doug quickly got to his feet and turned away so Chell wouldn’t see his aching erection. Neither one of them needed this particular complication right now. He slunk into the bedroom, carefully pulled on his pants, t-shirt and lab coat, and left the apartment to wait it out. He shot a glance at Chell, still curled up on the couch, and blew her a kiss. She forced a smile.

“I’ll be back soon. You get some rest,” he said softly, and closed the door quietly behind him.

There was nothing else for it. He’d have to go to one of his hidey-holes until he felt better. He hated doing this. He knew Chell worried about him whenever he disappeared, but he just couldn’t help it. He was too upset, and small spaces comforted him.

He awkwardly made his way to the break room and snuggled in a corner with the coffee station on his left and the wall on his right. He curled up and grabbed his legs, resting his head on his knees. It wasn’t an ideal spot; he would have much preferred a larger area, like the Aperture maintenance shaft, to hide in. A maze like that would give him plenty of places to run and hide to, even if he didn’t need it. A place like that would give him comfort and make him feel safe. But the break room would do. There was a magnum and a pack of extra slugs stashed in the air vent behind him, and the duct led almost directly into the bomb shelter, so he felt confident he’d have an escape route as well as a contingency plan if anything bad were to happen.

He heard the door creak open and footsteps echoed loudly on the concrete floors. He reached behind him and fingered the grating on the vent at his back. He would need to be quick on the draw if this was a Combine. It stopped close to the coffee station, and he heard the distinct sound of pouring liquid-

… wait. Why would a Combine make coffee?

“Hey, Doug. Hiding from the misses?” Gordon chuckled, leaning over the side of the coffee station to give Doug an amused look. “You would have scared me if I didn’t already know this was one of your happy places.”

“… they’re called ‘dens’, Gordon,” he mumbled, not really feeling like answering the physicist’s initial question.

“Yeah, I know. Sorry. So what’s the trouble?” Gordon asked, delicately tearing open a packet of sugar.

“… I don’t wanna talk about it, if it’s all the same to you,” Doug mumbled.

“Oh. It really _is_ a problem with Chell, isn’t it?” Gordon replied after a pause. For such a quiet man he certainly knew how to read people.

“Yes. It is,” Doug growled. “It’s all your damn fault anyway. I could have lived with eternal abstinence if you hadn’t have given me that condom. Now that I got another taste after all this time it feels like…,” he paused, searching for the words.

“… we have endured these chafing bonds so long, yet a single moment of further solitude seems intolerable,” Gordon said pensively.

“Where’d you get that from?”

“Vortigaunt said it,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’m paraphrasing, of course.”

“You have an excellent memory,” Doug marveled.

“I have to. I’m a physicist,” Gordon smirked at him.

Doug smiled. Of course. There was always something impressive about scientists, especially ones as intelligent as Gordon. Sometimes Doug even felt stupid when speaking with his friend. He knew Chell didn’t like to talk about science, but Doug was still a researcher at heart. Chatting with Gordon soothed a deep urge he had, a tightly-knotted desire to discuss scientific theories. They bounced ideas off each other, and even though Doug was a technician and not a physicist, he could still appreciate the company of another scientific mind. Even after every horrible thing science put him through, despite all the years that had gone by, it was still Doug’s greatest passion. Besides Chell, of course.

Gordon stirred his coffee thoughtfully. “How many times have I slipped my yoke only to find it choking me again? Er, that’s another one from the Vortigaunt. But it’s pretty apt, if you ask me.”

Gordon took a pause, clearly thinking up the words. He moved across the room so that he was positioned on the opposite wall from Doug. The physicist sipped his coffee quietly.

“How many times is it now that we’ve all cheated death? I certainly don’t need to tell you the number’s too high to recall. And how many times have I seen good people die and be unable to save them? … any amount greater than zero is too high, and yet I’ve reached a number I can’t even count to,” Gordon stared into the opaque, auburn liquid in his cup. It rippled gently with each exhale.

“… and how many times is it now, have I kept my mouth shut? How many times could I have just said “I love you” and have had everything be fixed?” he said, slower and quieter this time. “Just an arm around her shoulder would have made all the difference in the world. But I didn’t do it. I never held her when she needed me to the most. I never said what needed to be said. And you know what, Doug?”

“… no, what?” for all his learning, Doug still wasn’t certain where Gordon was going with all this.

“I probably never will. I’ll bet you anything I’ll just end up bottling things up and pushing poor Alyx further and further away,” he took another sip of his coffee, smacking his lips lightly at the strong, bitter taste. “She’s not in a great place right now. None of us are.”

The two scientists remained in silent companionship for a moment or two.

“… I know I’m not the only one with problems. But Chell… I can’t _not_ sleep with her any longer.”

“Trust me, buddy, I _know_ how that feels,” he agreed. “You know, Chell and Alyx are really a lot alike. Both beautiful, both dating science nerds, and both with a stubborn attitude like you wouldn’t believe.”

Gordon chuckled at his own statement, still mesmerized by his coffee.

“… anyway, what I’m saying is, you can come to me if you’ve got any problems with her. I just hope you’ll do the same for me in return when I run into issues.”

“Alright, I’ll take you up on it right now,” Doug started. But he couldn’t quite finish. Gordon was his friend, yes, but… how could he describe their issues? He didn’t want word getting out about their problems. Of course, the rebels did have a saying they used sometimes: “Two men can keep a secret if one of them is either dead or Gordon Freeman.”

He took a deep breath. He wasn’t particularly good at opening up to people, but with the help of his medication he mustered the words. “… I can’t satisfy her. No matter what I try, the only way I’ve found that can make her… y’know-”

“Yeah, gotcha, go on,” Gordon said, not unkind.

“… is also one of the only ways that will seriously risk pregnancy, unless I have a condom,” Doug finished.

“Oof… that’s rough,” Gordon replied. He was quiet for a long time, swirling the coffee in his cup and trying to think up a helpful response. “… you know, Doug. There _is_ a fertility clinic in the medical bay. I’ve been meaning to go there myself. You know… to… to make sure I can pass on my genes, and whatnot.”

“And “whatnot”, huh?” Doug chuckled.

“Hey, not like that! Alyx…,” he sighed. “Now’s… not a good time for us. Either of us.”

Gordon was usually a fairly happy man, at least when he was hanging around the resistance. Doug suspected that, with everything he’d been through, Gordon was probably just excited to feel safe and secure for the first time in a long time. Though, Doug also suspected that Gordon also felt quite a bit restless hanging around in here. He was supposedly scheduled to leave with Alyx and Barney to a remote Arctic location to uncover the Borealis. The rest of the resistance had kept them waiting thanks to Doug and Chell’s arrival. They wanted to have Doug’s opinion on the matter. Most importantly, they wanted to extract from him the procedure necessary to destroy the ship. But Doug had never been a part of the Borealis project… although, he _did_ know that whatever it was used for, it was _not_ anything good.

_“Tell us what you know about the ship, Doctor Rattmann,” asked Dr. Magnussen on their first day in White Forest._

_“… I don’t know much. Chell could probably tell you more than I could. All I know is that when the main generator blew, the ship was left unstable,” Doug replied truthfully._

_“There were blast doors, **huge** ones, installed in that area of the facility. There were several vitrified, closed-off test chambers. The Borealis’s dry dock, however, was the only one opened at the time. The massive metal door leading to it had been blown off its hinges from the inside,” Chell recounted._

_“And the ship?” Magnussen urged._

_“Gone, sir,” Chell said matter-of-factly._

_“It disappeared? Just like that? Poof?” Magnussen asked sarcastically. He already knew the ship was missing._

_“I’m afraid so, sir. But…,” Chell began, ignoring his sarcasm._

_“But?” Magnussen leaned forward expectantly._

_“… the dry dock was situated directly next to a chamber dedicated to teleportation research. It could have easily been a running theme,” she explained._

At any rate, Doug was a bit taken aback by Gordon’s current mood. Gordon was usually a happy man. But right now he looked as if his mother had just died and an Advisor had kicked his D0G. … only an Advisor had killed his long-time mentor and good friend.

Gordon had already sworn to kill every hunter in existence. He’d vowed to chase them all down until there were none left, and he was positive that at some point along the way he must have killed the one that hurt Alyx. Now he had another vendetta on his shoulders. There was only one thing stopping him from going on the hunt.

Gordon was terrified of Advisors.

But that was neither here nor there. Yes, Gordon was depressed. He and Alyx were still grieving, and their journey had been delayed for that reason (if we were being honest). The arrival of Doug and Chell, and their continuing interrogation sessions with Dr. Magnussen had merely been a formality. It was an excuse not to go. They didn’t want to stay for too much longer… after all, from what they knew, one of their allies was in terrible danger as of a week ago. But they just couldn’t bear to go.

Perhaps it would have been better for them if they had just left. Doug knew Gordon was itching to travel once more and fulfill Eli’s dying wish. But he simply _refused_ to go without Alyx, and… well, in _her_ condition there was simply no way Gordon or anyone else would allow her to go. This, of course, _really_ pissed her off.

“So what do you say, Doug? Do you want to go to the fertility clinic with me?” Gordon asked.

Doug thought for a moment, fidgeting restlessly in his little corner. “… can I bring the magnum?” he asked.

Gordon almost dropped his coffee as he burst out laughing. “Of _course_ you can!” he managed to choke out after somewhat regaining his composure. “I never go _anywhere_ without my crowbar! Hell, nobody around here travels without a gun!”

Oh, right! Doug recalled now. Almost everybody clutched an AR2 or MP7 to their chest. Some of them traveled with shotguns carried proudly on their shoulders or their belts or crossbows slung over their backs. A few more daring soldiers carted rocket launchers around with them, though for the most part they left those more heavy weapons where they could be easily accessed. Alyx herself always packed a pistol concealed in her jacket, and Doug had heard tales of a mad priest who never traveled without a double-barreled assault rifle in his hands. And not one person left their dorm without a grenade hidden somewhere on their person. It wouldn’t be unnatural for Doug to carry a revolver; in fact, it would seem odd if he _didn’t._

“Alright, then I’ll go,” he agreed, pulling the grate off of the wall and removing his precious magnum and its extra ammo from its hiding place in the vent. He opened it up, gently turning the barrel, and checking each individual bullet. It was full and everything seemed to be in order, so he clicked it shut and gave it a friendly turn. He loved the clicking sound it made; it reminded him of the idle spinning of a bicycle’s wheels. He had learned about this gun, he had trained with this gun, and he had taken exquisite care of this gun. This gun was his defender and his safety net. With this gun he knew he could protect both himself and his love.

_“Excuse me?” he had been nervous, fidgeting with his hands as he entered the armory._

_“Hey, Doc! What can I do for you?” asked a rebel with a surprising amount of gauze wrapped around her digits and shoulders._

_“I w-want a weapon, please,” he mumbled._

_“Sure thing! MP7 okay for you? Pulse rifles are hard to come by and we’re fresh out,” she asked, reaching for a machine gun atop a makeshift shelf of supply crates._

_“N-no, wait! I don’t know how to use one of those!”_

_“… you want a lesson?”_

_“No,” he sighed, exasperated. “I want a smaller one, like a handgun-”_

_“I’ve got a good little pistol right here that we stole off a CP you can have-”_

_“No! That can’t aim for long distances and it doesn’t do much damage!”_

_“So… do you want a shotgun then, or are you a crossbow kind of man?”_

_“Too heavy, too cumbersome! No, no, isn’t there anything small I can carry that does a lot of damage in the smallest number of shells? Something fairly easy to aim as well as conceal in, say, my pocket? Or an air vent?”_

_“Ah, you’ll want the magnum! Hold on, let me get one for you,” she immediately began digging through a crate. “Here!” she held out a shiny, fat revolver. “This baby’s got a scope on its muzzle, so it’s fairly easy to aim. But it’s got a hell of a kickback and if you use it wrong it might just break your nose!” she laughed. “But the cartridges pack a punch! You can kill a Combine Elite soldier with a single shell if he’s in range. Which is pretty damn far, if I do say so myself.”_

_“Wow,” he was impressed, hand hovering just above the chrome metal of the barrel but not quite touching it. “Why doesn’t everyone have one of these? It’s the perfect weapon.”_

_“Well…,” she mumbled. “… no weapon is perfect. It only holds six bullets and it’s a bitch to reload. It takes forever, even for someone trained in its use, to reload this thing. It’s generally used as an emergency gun. You pull it out if a soldier’s right on top of you and you’re either out of ammo for your other weapons or you don’t have enough room or time to aim a proper gun. “_

_“But I’m not planning on using it in battle. I only need something for emergencies.”_

_“Well, then this is the one for you, Doctor. This sucker packs more of a punch than our shotgun, and you can carry it in a holster. The only weapons with better aim and more power are either the crossbow or the bazooka.”_

_“Thank you so much! I’ll take it, if you don’t mind.”_

_“Sure thing! Here, I’ll give you an extra case of ammo, too,” she reached into the crate again and dug out a black and gold box emblazoned with the word MAGNUM in silver letters._

“You done fucking around with that thing yet? Let’s go already!” Gordon said kindly, but impatiently.

“Oh! Um, y-yes, coming,” Doug stammered, standing up stiffly from his corner.


End file.
